The Leaning Tables of Pisa

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Today we have a long day of travelling to Cinque Terre on Italy's north-west coast, via Florence and Pisa.

We wake up early. Scott and Emma have organised an extended family gathering for Troy's birthday and we're keen to ring in to the party. Issy browsed through photos of home yesterday and said they made her feel homesick. I then reminded her about the winter weather and she quickly recovered. Ringing home does however remind us that we're a long way from those we love, and we do wish we could have been there for this occasion.

It's again very quiet in the breakfast room, and I'm again in trouble for clanging my spoon against the edge of my cereal bowl too loudly. Issy says that the mysterious machine is in fact a toaster and she even shows me how to use it. There's clearly still much I have to learn about life.

We drive towards Florence with the GPS in the glove box. We don't know how to get to the rental car office, so we reluctantly get it out again to guide us through the last few kilometres. It hasn't improved. It takes us along the bank of the river and then tells us that we need to turn into an area where signs tell us cars aren't allowed. Issy says that I should just follow its instructions. That's easy for her to say; she's not the one who's going to get arrested. Next it tries to take us across the Ponte Vecchio. I doubt a car's ever driven across the Ponte Vecchio. It's a world famous icon lined with jewellery stores, and the path between them's so narrow that you'd struggle to get through with a bike. I try to imagine what my defence will be when I get arrested for trying to vandalise a world famous icon. I don't think blaming the GPS will get me far. I have some idea where we are now so I tell Issy very politely and calmly to please turn the GPS off and put it away. We're nearly back to the rental car office, so it would be a shame to take to it with a hammer now, despite the urge to do so being almost irresistible.

We walk onto the station platform. A girl who we assume is a rail official tells us where our carriage is, and then starts to carry our bags. They're very heavy, so we try to stop her. When we get to our seats she asks us very politely if we could please give her some money. She says that she has three children to support and no job. This is very sad. We give her a few Euro; she's certainly earnt it.

We leave our luggage at the Pisa station and set off on foot towards the Tower. It seems that the station's at one end of the town, and the Tower's about as far away as you can get from it and still be in Pisa. I buy a ticket to climb the Tower. Issy again declines. She hasn't climbed a tower yet, and I'm now strongly suspecting that she has a real aversion for tall structures. We've forked out a small fortune on a restaurant booking up the Eiffel Tower, so I hope she doesn't decide to pass on that too. I might also need to work on convincing her that the Tower of London isn't really a tower.

Time slots to climb the tower are strictly allocated and we've got a few hours to kill before mine. We have lunch and walk around the Tower and the Cathedral next to it. Troy made me promise before I left home that I wouldn't take any of those pictures that everyone seems to take here showing them holding the tower up with their hands or feet, or by leaning against it. I decide to keep my promise. It seems however that he didn't have a similar conversation with Issy, so I'm forced to stand in embarrassing poses as she snaps happily away. I think I might need to have a word with our offspring when we get home about consistency of messaging.

It seems that Pisa survives on the tower. You can buy tower icons of every conceivable size and description - lamps, fridge magnets, pencils - the list goes on. It seems the Tower's also a convenient excuse for any of the town's shortcomings. Our waitress at lunch tells us that we're in Pisa, so we should expect our table to be wobbly and on a slope. I wonder how many people would come here if the Tower didn't lean. It seems a bit odd that something's so famous because of a mistake. I assume it was a mistake.

I wait in line for my turn to make the climb. There's no shortage of signs warning that because of the narrow staircase only cameras can be taken up, and all bags need to be "deposited" in a cloak room. As usual my camera's in its bag. As I approach the entrance an officious man tells me that I need to "deposit" my camera's bag or I can't come in. I tell him that it's only a camera bag, and show him that it fits so snugly around its contents that it doesn't take up any more room than the camera itself. He's unimpressed. He tells me again that I need to "deposit" it or I won't be allowed in. He's being ridiculous. I tell him that I'll put it in my pocket, but he repeats again that I need to "deposit" it. I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall. I put the bag in my pocket, but even this doesn't satisfy him. I walk a few metres away where he can't see me, shove it deeper into my pocket, take off my hat and sunglasses in case he remembers me, and walk back to the queue. He waves me through.

Other than a short section at the top, the staircase isn't all that narrow, but it's very noticeably steeper in the sections leading away from the lean. The views over the town and the pancake flat surrounding countryside are excellent. Coming down's a bit disconcerting; I feel like I'm about to slip off the marble in the sections of stairs leading into the lean. On the way out I walk very slowly past officious man, whilst taking my camera bag as obviously as possible out of my pocket. I hope he'll notice but unfortunately he's way too busy being officious with someone else.

We trudge back to the station and catch a train to the coastal town of La Spezia. We need to change here to a local train to our final destination of Monterosso, one of the five villages in the Cinque Terre. I wasn't able to book this final leg before we left home, so I leave Issy in the subway with the luggage while I set off in search of tickets. The ticket queue's very slow moving and I'm away for a long time. As I walk back Issy yells at me to stop where I am. There are two sets of stairs into the subway, one on either side of a lift. She yells that I mustn't use the stairs on the left. It seems that she's been yelling at everyone coming through here for the past half hour. It's quite crowded so she must have done a lot of yelling. It seems that two young girls dropped a bottle of detergent on the steps, so they're now very slippery, and quite a few people have slipped and fallen over. Issy says she couldn't leave the luggage to find someone to clean it up, so she's been playing traffic cop instead. She says that no one else seemed interested in helping, even the people who'd fallen over, and the girls who dropped the detergent just thought it was funny and walked away. I tell her that we need to go or we'll miss our train. She's now very concerned that others will fall over when there's no one here to yell at them.

We're in a tunnel for most of the trip, but we get occasional glimpses of the sea. We catch a taxi to the hotel. The driveway's very long, steep and narrow, and the taxi's mirrors constantly bang against the rocky cliff face. This taxi must spend most of its life taking people backwards and forwards between the hotel and the station, so I can't help but think that the driver's life might be a bit easier if he just took the mirrors off.

The hotel's on top of a cliff overlooking the sea and our room's on the top floor. It has a huge balcony and the view is way beyond stunning. There's a cute ancient looking village around the bay to our right, and steep hills behind us. I think I might have died and gone to heaven. Issy says that I need to cancel the rest of the trip; she says she's staying right here. We order room service dinner and eat it on our balcony. Idyllic doesn't begin to cover it.

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Comments

[maree young]

Your love of towers is great Dave & results in terrific photos !! Issy that must have been distressing watching people slip.over at the station caused by stupid antics :(